


An Experiment in Emotions

by ARose66



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 02:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18459914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARose66/pseuds/ARose66
Summary: Castiel knew what emotions had felt like as a human. It's something else entirely as an angel. Complete.





	An Experiment in Emotions

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a way to help my writer's block. I really hope that you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think!

They were in a small diner. Middle America somewhere, a back road town that few heard about and even fewer traveled through. Outside, the autumn sun was beginning to set casting dark orange and red shadows on the few patrons scattered among the few tables. Getting dark, but it didn’t matter. They were no longer in a hurry, not when the ghost was vanquished and sent back to wherever ghosts go when it’s finally the end for them. They were going home now themselves, tired, hungry, but feeling happy for once. It had been a long time since they had handled something so mundane as a ghost case but it had felt good, felt pure. Like everything was alright in the hunter world again. 

Castiel sat with the menu opened in front of him. It wasn’t long, barely two pages, and laminated. Someone had dropped grape jelly on the upper right corner and in the orange haze of the setting sun, it was difficult to read. But it didn’t matter. Castiel wasn’t going to eat anything anyway. He had liked tea once, when he had been human, but no more. Not when everything tasted like molecules. In every sip, he could distinguish every nuance of every leaf, every subtle difference in flavor, in texture, an obscene assault of flavors that overwhelmed him. Sometimes, he wished that he could enjoy the taste of it once again, could sit on a chair in some hotel, staring out as the sun rose gently in the sky, a cup of hot tea steaming in his clasped hands. Sometimes, he would sit by the windows, watching the sunrise but listening for the roar of the Impala’s engine, waiting for his boys, his friends, to return. And when Dean would walk through the door, there was only sunlight in Castiel’s world. 

But he wasn’t a human any longer and nothing held so much appeal as it had before. Food had become intolerable, even the cheeseburgers that he had so loved once. His hot tea had become bitter, decadent only in his memories. And if he were honest, being human had been awkward. He didn’t have social skills, something that Dean had always loved to remind him about with a fond smile. He didn’t understand social cues. He didn’t understand how a human could say one thing and mean something else entirely. He didn’t understand emotions. As an angel, he knew what they were. He knew what anger was, what love was. Jealousy, despair, agony, heartbreak. He knew the definitions, but not how they _felt_. 

Until now. 

Castiel grabbed a napkin, absently twisting it with one hand while he stared down at the menu. He could feel Sam’s gaze on him, intent and searching. The younger Winchester brother knew that something was off, something was changing, but couldn’t place what it was. But he didn’t say anything. He never would. He would wait for Castiel to come to him for help, for advice, whatever he needed. But how could he go to Sam when he didn’t understand what was happening himself? 

In theory, he supposed that it made sense. He had been human once and the moment that his wings had been torn from him, the moment his grace had been ripped from his very being, he had felt it, every emotion that humans could feel, and oh God, how they could feel! Angels were removed from emotions. They were too human, too low for a servant of the Lord. But his Grace was gone then and nothing could protect him from the onslaught that consumed and overwhelmed every sense. Even though his Grace had been returned to him, it was difficult to remove the memories of those feelings. And he could feel them returning, slowly so that he could process them, but constant. He supposed that he was balancing himself out. It was only fitting. He was an Angel of the Lord, but loyal to the Winchesters. He had put humans above his Father. He wasn’t fully an angel, not quite a human. He supposed that he was becoming something else, something in-between. The thought didn’t scare him as much as it should have. 

_Pleasure._

He knew that emotion. It wasn’t that difficult to process. It was the gentle hum of the bees as they gathered nectar to make their honey. It was the constant roar of the Impala as she navigated dirt roads back and forth across the country. It was hot tea on a cold morning. It was helping Sam with his research and discovering new cases. It was sitting outside on a mountain after a thunderstorm, the scent of earth and rain rich in the air, intoxicating and purifying. 

It was Dean’s smile when he thought that no one was looking. It was the rich, vibrant green of Dean’s eyes when he was truly content. It was Dean’s hand on Castiel’s shoulder whenever he would say something that would make Dean laugh. It was the thought of Dean emerging from the bathroom after a shower, shirtless, towel around the small of his waist. It was watching the water droplets glisten against his bronze skin, gravity pulling them down across his skin and Castiel wanting to do the same thing with his tongue. 

_Pain._

Castiel knew that one, too. It was the bitter feeling when Heaven had turned against him, tried to hunt him down and kill him. It was killing so many of his brothers and sisters. It was every jab of his angel blade sinking into skin. It was every lie made necessary by the situation at hand. It was being exiled from his home, denied his place among the Host. It was the knowledge that his Father had chosen to disappear when his children, angels and humans alike, had needed him most. It was the look on Dean’s face when Sam was hurt on hunts and Castiel couldn’t help him heal more quickly. Pain was harsh and heavy, a solid weight in his chest that suffocated. 

It was when they would go to a bar or a diner and the waitresses would flirt with Dean, desire obvious in their gaze. It was when Dean would return those flirtations, disappearing at the end of the night for a few hours to find his release in a warm body. It was knowing that Dean would never want to be with him, not like that. He shouldn’t want a human so much, but God, he did, he did and he burned for Dean, a fire that raged and swelled within him. Pain was knowing that he could never tell. 

Sometimes, while Dean and Sam slept and Castiel kept watch, he would lose himself in thought. Always, they were simple fantasies. Waking up next to Dean, Dean’s large hand gentle on Castiel’s face, fingers threading through the soft, dark strands of hair. A gentle kiss, a soft gasp, a murmur, a whimper. Scorching heat as skin met skin, Castiel’s fingers dancing along the hard sinew of muscle that lie beneath soft, warm skin. In his fantasies, Dean didn’t tell him that he loved him because that wasn’t Dean. But he was freer with his movements, his touch a little too intimate to be platonic. His kisses would be consuming, Castiel knew. Dean kissed with his whole body, desperately searching for that intimacy and taking whatever he could. Castiel wanted to give him everything that he could. He had given up so much for Dean already, had even claimed him in the eyes of Heaven and Hell when he had rescued him from the Pits. But Castiel wanted more, so much more, more than Dean could ever give. 

Sam cleared his throat, pulling Castiel’s attention to the waitress who stood next to the table, notepad in hand as she waited for his order. 

“Tea, please.’ He said gently, knowing that he wouldn’t drink it but that Sam would steal it for himself at some point. “And a side of pie.” 

Dean would love that. Anything for Dean.That, he knew, was devotion. Or was it being pathetic? He wasn't sure. 

Castiel handed over the menu, glancing around the diner, searching for Dean and spotted him talking to another waitress at the counter. Brunette this time. He never did seem to have a preference so long as they were willing. He leaned against the counter, casual, confident and smoldering and the woman was entranced. And as Dean smiled at her, his eyes crinkling, Castiel couldn’t blame her. Not when Dean was so potent, a mixture of sex and danger. The woman slyly placed her hand on Dean’s and Castiel could hear every thought in her head. 

_“So sexy. Want him. Want him. Want him.”_

And when Dean only smiled at her, Castiel knew that they would be staying in town for a few hours longer than expected. 

_Jealousy._

Another emotion that Castiel was coming to know so well. 

 

Night had always been Castiel’s favorite time. He loved the still, gentle quiet of the world, the full brilliance of the stars shimmering in a dark blue sky. There was peace in a world consumed by violence and it was a moment to breathe, to forget. They were on their way to another case, this time in Nevada, and the desert stretched out alongside them, endless and dark and ominous. He could see minute shadows as jackrabbits bounced along in the darkness, as mice hurried to find food before being spotted by some predator.

Castiel sat in the back seat of the Impala, head against the cold window as Dean drove skillfully along rugged roads. Outside the window, the moon was full and lush, bathing the Impala in a silver sheen that entranced. Once, Castiel had told Dean that he didn’t understand why so many people drove newer cars. They were too modernized, too smooth and when had mankind decided that quiet engines were optimal? His father might know but Castiel did not. He liked the deep hum of the Impala’s engine, loved it more when Dean would start her, roaring to life in a burst of fire and oil. He liked the sharp curves, loved to trail his long fingers along shining chrome and black metal. There was a beauty to her, something more, something that mass factory produced cars could never achieve. 

Dean hadn’t been able to stop smiling for that remark. 

Now, during the quiet night hours, the car devouring miles of endless roads, Castiel could feel that jealousy, that pain from before settling into a slow burn as they drove further and further away from the waitress with the brown hair and the seductive eyes. She was a memory now, a moment in time eternal but Castiel was still here, still in his rightful place in the back of the Impala, Dean behind the wheel, Sam peering endlessly at his phone as he read by the soft light of the screen. She had touched Dean in ways that he never would but in the end, she was nothing and not for the first time, Castiel wished that Dean would only _see_. Just see him. Not as an ally, not as an immensely powerful being but as someone to want. 

Castiel had long ago realized the hopelessness of such a wish. There would be other waitresses, other women and never Castiel. It was just the way of the world. 

Above the hum of the engine, Castiel could hear the soft sounds of the radio. Castiel predated humans. He had been there when their ancestors had first learned to speak, first learned to sing. During the Middle Ages, he had often gone to the Cathedrals, hidden from view and listening, just listening to the choir, their songs robust, their devotion for his Father echoing off of stone walls. He had watched composers, had stood in awe as they performed their symphonies to sold out crowds. 

And yet…

There was something almost magical in the music that Dean listened to. Every song held a treasured memory and Castiel felt himself fall in love with the music, too. He found that he loved the flowing, soulful wails of the guitar that dominated the rock scene throughout the 70’s. He loved the attention to every beat of the drum, every note played by the bass and guitar. Every song was a journey throughout his own mind. Bonham was his favorite, the legendary drummer for Zeppelin, and Castiel could feel his blood pounding throughout his veins with every beat, his heart rising and falling with every note. An emotional rollercoaster, Sam had called it once, and Castiel thought that was fitting. 

The night was quiet, the car rumbling along beaten roads, small stones flying from the force of the tires on the asphalt. Inside the Impala, there was only the soft hum of the radio, Sam’s muted snores as he slept hunched against his jacket against the window, his phone forgotten and dark in his hand. Castiel caught Dean’s gaze in the rearview mirror, vibrant green eyes meeting rich blue. Dean smiled, fond and gentle and the burning pain that had lingered in his heart for so many miles was forgotten for now. 

And Castiel knew that this was what happiness felt like. 

 

Months later. Another black night. They were exhausted and this job had not been so easy. Sam had been injured and Castiel, God, _he didn’t remember._ He didn’t remember. He did remember the missing girls, the urgency he had felt to find the creature responsible. He remembered the anger when the bodies began showing up, the carefully hidden sickness he felt as he had looked upon the mutilated remains. He remembered discovering the abandoned house, knowing, knowing that this was it, this was where the enemy lived, where he operated. It took a second to open the door and another before Castiel was somehow flying through the air with an intensity and violence that was startling. There was pain, so much pain, he saw Sam get hit by something and then darkness. He woke up in the backseat of the Impala, his vision blurred and it hurt to keep his eyes open but he could hear the brothers speaking in low tones. The monster was dead, the victims safe (Castiel experienced happiness again mixed with a new emotion that he recognized as relief) but Castiel wasn’t waking up and what if they lost him? He shifted his body, feeling the stiffness tight in his muscles and inwardly he winced as sharp pains ricocheted up and down his torso. Slowly, he reached out and his hand fell on Dean’s shoulder, heavy, solid, but it was enough for Dean to pull over alongside the empty road. He turned in his seat, his eyes flying over Castiel as if to gauge how close he was to death and Castiel could feel the worry, the terror and it was so exhausting and Castiel just wanted to sleep and sleep, wanted to feel the burn of his grace healing him, slightly muted than it once was but still so pleasurable. Sleep could wait, though. After Dean knew that he was alive, that he would pull through.  
Nothing mattered more than Dean.

‘Thought we were gonna lose you,” was all Dean could say, his voice so deep, so beautiful that it physically hurt. “You were bleedin’ everywhere, man.’ 

‘I’m ok, ‘Castiel responded, an automatic response meant to calm Dean. It wasn’t such a lie. His body was (slowly) healing. There was pain, deep and over his entire body. He could feel the dried stiffness on his shirt, could smell the copper scent of blood and he knew that he had lost a lot of it. But he was ok. Because he was alive and in Dean’s eyes, he saw something that he never thought could ever be directed at him. A flicker, a flash but Castiel knew. 

Adoration. Love. 

Should he have been surprised? They were in new cities all the time but the waitresses had all but disappeared from Dean’s life over time. Something was changing, had been changing, slow but persistent. As though Dean were allowing himself to feel things that he had hidden forever. As though there was something more, something not yet acted upon, but Castiel, as inexperienced as he was, could feel the potential, the anticipation, another new emotion. Touches, lingering palms on arms and hands. Gazes that would lock and hold. And Castiel was falling again, but this time there was pleasure, there was fire, an undercurrent of devotion, of hope. Hope that Dean was falling too, that he wanted him too. 

“I’m ok,” he said again, more strongly this time and he felt the truth behind it. Dean smiled, soft, gentle, before turning around and pulling the car back onto the road. 

“Glad you’re ok, man’, Sam said, turning his head to look back at Castiel. His face was taut with pain but his smile was genuine. 

‘You too, Sam’, Castiel responded, before allowing the smooth motion of the car to lull him back to sleep. And despite the pain, Castiel was content. 

When they arrived at the Bunker, Dean helped Castiel to his room. He had tried to help Sam first but Sam had shrugged him off, telling him that he was going to his room to sleep off the pain and _'besides Dean, Castiel is in worse shape than I am._ Dean was careful, so achingly tender as helped Castiel change his bloodied clothing for something clean. Despite the steady flood of Grace pouring through his system, something, perhaps his new humanity, his being something in-between, kept it from healing him as quickly as it once had. No matter. He would be better by the morning, he knew, and now Dean was helping him into his bed and had anyone ever smelled so divine? Castiel’s hands gripped Dean’s bicep as he slowly lowered himself into his bed, the skin beneath his fingertips smooth, the muscles hard and strong. Not for the first time, Castiel was hit with another emotion, desire, but that was the emotion that he was the most familiar with when it came to Dean. How couldn’t he want him? He always had. He always would. 

Dean went to leave the room, stopped at the doorway, hesitated, his hand on the light switch. He glanced back at Castiel, his green eyes thoughtful. Slowly, so slowly, he walked back to the bed, sitting next to Castiel, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. 

“Don’t do that again,’ He rumbled, so soft, a plea of desperation in the quiet room. 

“I won’t,” Castiel replied just as softly. What else could he say? 

“Promise me,” Dean said, firmer now, eyes locking on Castiel’s. “Promise me you won’t do that to me again.” 

“Dean….” 

“Promise me, Castiel. Losing you….” Dean broke off, stubbornly refusing to look away. 

“I promise to try, Dean.” Castiel whispered. Dean nodded, opened his mouth as if to answer, before closing it again. 

“Let me stay with you tonight?” 

A whispered plea and who was Castiel to deny such a request? He shifted on the bed, moving so that Dean would have room. He kicked off his boots, shrugged off his flannel, lay down on the bed facing Castiel and Castiel was helpless against the green, endless green, of Dean’s eyes. Dean brought up a hand to Castiel’s cheek, his thumb idly tracing his lower lip. 

A gentle kiss. Their first. A promise of more. So much more. Castiel closed his eyes, knowing that although he didn’t need sleep, he wanted it this time. Wanted to sleep in Dean’s arms, wake up to him, and maybe, even kiss more. There was an ache, but it was pleasurable. A thousand, million emotions rolling through his body as he felt Dean’s arms slide around him, felt Dean press his long, hard body against his, felt the comforting warmth, the euphoria of his gentle kisses, the sinfulness of his light touches. He felt love, desire, relief but there was something more, something wonderful and beautiful and perfect.

For the first time in his long life, Castiel felt peace.


End file.
